


Erebor Sadness

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Post BoFA, Thorin is a dork and consent is important, also this turned out a little angsty too, and I think I screwed up on the consent part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What things do Kings do when their task is over?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erebor Sadness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ibijau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibijau/gifts).



> My part of a fic trade with wonderful Tagath, who's awesome and I hope their day might be slightly better upon reading this dorky story.  
> Yeah so the title is basically a dorked up "Summertime Sadness" because I think it's really pretty and...

Thorin Oakenshield had never accounted for the day when he would regain Erebor. He never planned for anything past retaking his mountain, so when he did, he suddenly felt empty. As if he had no purpose. There was no goal for him, no dragon to slay, no gold to find.

Bedridden by his injuries, he initially just laid there and stared at the stone ceiling - those less injured had made time to make parts of the mountain habitable once again - and wondered what he would do now that he had Erebor. After a few days, he began complaining about his boredom to anyone who’d enter his room, whether they listened or not. 

On the fifth day of his incapacitated state, the scribe of his Company arrived with a pile of books in his arms. “I figured a bit of reading might entertain you.”

And the King looked appreciative, he even smiled a bit (this made Ori a little uncomfortable, because it was so odd to see Thorin smile) and thanked him. When Ori returned a few days later however, the king had not touched the books - Ori could tell, the books were exactly as he had left them: one on the old wooden nightstand and the rest on the floor by it.

“I- my Lord, are you not interested in the books I brought?” he dared to ask. “I could bring new ones, if you’d like.”

At this the king shook his head, holding up his shaking hand as if to stop the scribe from taking the books away. “It’s fine, I just...haven’t had the time.”

Ori bowed and left.

 

Upon Ori’s fourth visit, he noticed the books still had not been touched. He couldn’t help but feel a bit bothered by it. 

“If you do not want to read the books, perhaps I could take them back to the library? I’m sure someone wishes to read them.”

Thorin shook his head, like the last time, and when he opened his mouth to say something, Ori barely heard the embarrassed mumble. 

“You...can’t? You can’t read?” 

The king looked so terribly uncomfortable, eyes averted from Ori and his hands clasped together over his torso. The younger dwarrow considered this for a second, and then straightened his back and bowed before the one on the bed.

“It would be my honor to teach you, my Lord. Perhaps then you’ll be able to keep yourself occupied, and enjoy these books.”

Thorin nodded, slowly, avoiding eye-contact as Ori sat down at the side of the bed. The scribe reached for the book on the bedside table, and slowly began guiding the king through how to read it. Word by word, it became easier, although he’d still stumble on some words.

“It’s alright, that’s a very hard word.” 

Thorin was almost certain that Ori said that to make him feel better about himself.

Over the weeks that passed, Ori would come over at least twice a week, often more, to help the king with his reading. Thorin’s leg healed up enough that he could leave the bed, but not for long periods of time, and he often needed some type of support (which is why Oín gifted him a cane, made out of stone and gold and jewels, beautifully crafted especially for Thorin). To the king’s joy, they could now practice the reading on a sofa instead, with the fireplace crackling loudly by them as the he attempted words much too difficult for him.

The scribe leaned more toward the king, reaching across to see the word better and then glancing up at Thorin. “Try to pronounce it more like-” 

And then the younger dwarrow suddenly found it incredibly hard to pronounce words, most likely because of the soft lips pressed to his own. 

Pale as a sheet, Ori flew backwards. “Mahal, what… _what_ are you doing?” he hissed, eyes wide and shaking slightly.

“I’m...sorry, I thought you were…” Thorin paused and fixed his eyes on the book. “I must have misinterpreted…”

“I need to...go. Now. Goodbye.” The scribe disappeared somewhere through the door, and the king sighed heavily.

 

A single flower, soft petals and white as snow, would be found on Ori’s doorstep the next day. Ori stared at it with a shocked expression, almost as if he expected it to explode, and eventually closed the door. A new flower was found there the next day, and this one was let into Ori’s home, laying on a table until it’s petals dried and fell off. The day after that, his doorstep was covered in flowers, white and red both. These were all gathered up and soon found their way into Thorin’s home, carried in by Ori himself.

“Is this your way of apologizing?” Ori asked, heat burning on his cheeks.

The king - nose previously buried in a book, the same one Ori left him with - looked up. “I’m not good with words.”

“Thank you, for that clarification,” Ori said sarcastically, and dropped all the flowers on the floor. “Goodbye.”

Grabbing the cane by the sofa and standing up as fast as he could without hurting himself, Thorin shouted after the scribe. “Wait! Please, don’t go. I’m sorry.” 

Ori looked far less angry than before, his eyebrows knitted together in a concerned look. 

“Please say something.” The king dared a sad smile and a few slow steps.

The scribe bit his tongue, eyes focused on Thorin’s. “You may be my king, but that doesn’t mean you’re entitled to me. You can be seeing all the signs, but that doesn’t mean I want you to do anything about it. Don’t assume things like that. Be as handsome as you like, but I usually don’t...take well to being touched.”

Nodding slowly, Thorin stepped as close as he could without touching Ori - he stood still, as if frozen in place - and whispered in a low voice: “What if you’re the one doing the touching? Would that help? If you take it at your own pace?” 

Ori let the corners of his mouth turn up as he closed the distance with a gentle kiss on the lips of his King, followed by another, and a dozen more - all so soft and gentle and they tasted so nicely. 

Thorin’s cane hit the floor when Ori guided his arms, letting Thorin lean on the scribe for support.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I imagine the kisses being all epically filmed to that song.


End file.
